Til I hear you sing
by Iwillsingyoulullabys
Summary: Voldemort is dead but Harry is still suffering. As the one left behind all hatred has turned on him and his best friends aren't there to defend him. Working as an Auror he is determined to reopen the case of the missing Hermione Granger. But is it as simple as it seems? HP&HG pairing. Mature themes.
1. The day starts

**Hello everybody, I hope you enjoy my latest story! I've got the next few chapters written already so they'll be up very soon. Please do drop a review with your thoughts. If you'd ever like me to return the favour let me know and I shall!**

The day starts

"I wish it could stay like this forever"  
He agreed. She lay curled up in his arms, their faces inches apart. He wanted to count every freckle, memorize the blush in her cheeks, remember forever the way her brown eyes looked at him as if they were the only people in the whole world. He never wanted to forget the feel of her against him. The softness of her skin, the awkward sharpness of her joints, even the dry skin on her feet. He wrapped his hands around her brown curls as if they were rings on his fingers. He closed his eyes as she too ran her hands through his hair. He loved it when she did that. That small comfort made him feel instantly at peace no matter the difficulties they were facing. There was something so primal about that touch that soothed his soul. To soothe her he would gently stoke the bridge of her nose and eyes would follow that touch until they grew heavy and she slept. In a time of nightmares and fear, this was their small routine that allowed them to go to sleep.  
In the days he loved to hear her laugh. She didn't muffle it behind her hands as he knew some girls did. Nor would she blush if she snorted or cackled. She would laugh for everyone to hear and it was infectious. Then there was the singing. Quietly under her breath as she prepared the food or set up the security spells. A little hum as they went foraging. Occasionally she'd forget she shared the tent and would sing in the shower as if it were Wembley Stadium. He liked to surprise her by joining in on the chorus. They were happy songs, love songs, modern songs and old songs. They were never sad songs.  
"What are you thinking about?" She breathed.  
He took her hand and kissed her fingers. "You." He said honestly. "And how I want us to stay like this forever."  
She looked at him sadly. "But we can't." Already she started to sound further away. "You know that. It's time to wake up soon."  
The familiar pang in his chest. "Five more minutes."  
"You haven't got time. You must wake up."  
"Please-"

"Wake up."  
The alarm clock shrieked into life and Harry Potter woke with a start.

Harry Potter was unusual in many ways. One way was that he had always been an early riser. It was a trick that he'd learned from life at the Dursley's. Wake up early and you can sneak downstairs to snack in the kitchen. Never take enough food to arouse suspicion, but by waking up a few hours early you could have a fairly decent feast. The growing boy Dudley would end up taking most of the blame.  
It was quieter in the mornings too. It gave him time to be alone with his thoughts. As a child he would have pretend conversations with his imaginary parents. As a teenager he would continue the homework he'd fallen asleep doing the night before. As an adult he would start the arduous work of preparing for a new day.

The shower was cold. He'd forgotten to pay for hot water again. Not that he cared. Even though the water was like ice against his skin it did a good job of waking him up. It helped him see clearly. It reminded him of what life was like. As he dressed he flicked on the tv, a comfort he'd kept from his muggle days. Not that he ever really watched it. The people on the screen were his background noise. They kept him company, even if he never listened to the things they said.

A dozen takeaway boxes littered the kitchen surface. Harry made a mental note to remind himself to pretend to do something about that later. But not now. Throwing a cloak around his shoulders he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.  
Most wizards apparated or used Floo Powder but Harry liked the run before work. He'd always held a nervous energy and an early morning run helped him control it. But he had to leave early enough to stop himself being mobbed by the paparazzi. Luckily they'd not twigged the ungodly hour he left the house or, if they had, they'd decided that their own sleep was more important to them.

Another reason Harry liked to get to work early was to sort out the mountains of hate mail that arrived promptly at his desk at 7 o'clock every morning. Howlers were the most common and if he left it too long he'd come into work to find his office on fire. Plus there were often parcels. They often needed to be disposed of fairly quickly. It hadn't always been that way. After the war he was lauded a hero and was sent mountains of gifts every day. Books were written about him, celebrating his success. There was even talk of a musical. People would stop him in the street and ask for a picture. Children asked him to sign their broomstick handles. But then the first lawsuit came.

 _Mr Letch, 45, argues that had it not been for Mr Potter's foolish decision to head into a building filled with minors and put everyone at risk, his son would still be alive. Mr Potter's reckless actions did not take into account the dangers others, including underage students, would face. Had a proper plan been implemented, many would still be alive._

The article Rita Skeeter had written for the Daily Prophet had burned into his skull. Filled with guilt and shame he had paid Mr Letch 10,000 galleons as compensation. Barry Letch was not a name he had heard of during his time at Hogwarts but he would have passed the Ravenclaw on the stairs or in the Great Hall. He released a statement along with the money to apologise to the family and to anyone else who had been affected by him.  
That is where it began to snowball. Soon everyone knew that Harry Potter would part with money if you found something to blame him for. It started off just with the families of those who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Then it escalated. If you were related to anyone who died at the hands of Voldemort or a Death Eater you could make a claim. Then the families of Death Eaters began to make their claims. Before he knew it, nearly every family in Wizarding Britain had approached him for money. Which he paid every single time.  
There were seven howlers today, an improvement on yesterday. He listened to them all patiently and wrote down the names along with their bank details. An envelope seeping with dragon dung went straight in the bin. When he opened a card a stinging jinx shot him in the face while a cartoon Voldemort grinned. 'Fuck you, Potter' was written in a childish scrawl. Technically he could report it and the poster would find themselves in court. But Harry knew if he reported every piece of hate mail, soon everyone would be in Azkaban. Even people he'd once considered to be his friends sent it.

Harry had just finished clearing his desk ready to start the day when his manager came in with a lump of paperwork. The sound of it hitting the desk made his chest tighten.

"Have these filed within ten minutes." He sneered. "Or I'll dock your wages."  
Finneas Dipow had been one of many to bring a lawsuit against Harry. But he was one of the few who insisted it be brought to court. Harry could still remember sitting there as the bulbous nosed idiot prattled on and on about an ancient family heirloom that had been damaged by a Death Eater who was searching for Harry. He'd paid the fine but Dipow still continued to do whatever he could to make Harry's life a living hell.

"Yes sir."

Dipow bit the inside of his cheek. Harry could see the longing in his eyes to see if he could do anything further to provoke. But Harry would not rise to it as he once had. It was too tiring. When Diplow eventually flounced away, Harry picked up the documents and began to leaf through them.  
This is not what he'd expected his Auror career to be like. He'd passed his exams with flying colours and was noted to be one of the most promising new talents. But due to all the lawsuits and Diplow's obsessive hatred of him, Harry had spent his career cooped up in an office while those junior to him got to go out and do what he should be doing. Afterwards he would write up their adventures, trying not to seethe with envy.  
At lunchtime Kingsley Shacklebolt poked his head round the door. The Minister would pop in from time to time under the guise of asking Harry to do something or even to borrow a quill. But Harry knew when he was being checked up on.

"Have you sorted the – ah" Kingsley smiled as Harry handed him the Rosier file. "I knew I could count on you. You heading off for lunch yet?"

Harry gestured to the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. "I think today needs to be a working lunch."  
Kingsley gave him a knowing smile as he perched on the small free space on the desk. "Harry, when's the last time you didn't work through lunch?" He asked gently.  
"It's fine." He knew the man was well meaning, one of many in his life who was keen to act as a father figure, but at times it could feel grating. "I prefer it. Being kept busy."  
Kingsley seemed to accept his explanation but did not leave, instead choosing to rifle through the documents. He whistled. "Dipow has you doing all of this? Harry, I need to have a word with that man. We have people to do this. No wonder the apprentices are twiddling their thumbs. You should be out on the field!"

"You're telling me." He muttered.

The Minister looked like he was about to say something, but then he caught sight of the ashes of the howlers in the bin.  
"More hate mail?" He crossed over to the bin and began to sift through its contents, his smooth face turning into a frown. "Harry, I told you to report this stuff. You shouldn't have to put up with this."  
"Yeah, well I do." Harry knew he was being rude, but he was too tired to care. "I do have to put up with it. So I will."  
Kingsley tutted as he sifted through the letters that hadn't exploded after reading, the ones more keen on grabbing payment from him. "Are you still paying these people?"  
When Harry didn't answer him he asked again.  
"Yes!" It burst out in frustration. "It's none of your business."  
"It is my business when the public are bleeding my best auror dry." Kingsley had lost the reassuring smile. He leaned over the desk, his face firm. "I mean it, Harry. I knew your parents. They worked hard for that money to give you a good life. It's not for greedy people out to make a claim. No more paying people. Voldemort has been dead for five years. Anyone who is still coming forward is a liar or a chancer. Okay?"

Deep inside the old Harry was fighting to agree with him. But the Harry he was now felt laden down with the world. He felt like he was carrying a dozen sacks filled with guilt and grief. Every time he paid someone he could put a sack down.

"And then three more appear." Kingsley didn't apologise for breaking into Harry's thoughts. "I'm allowed to worry about you. I promised Dumbledore I would look out for you and I am a man of my word, but I feel like I am failing you at the moment. You're the boy who lived, Harry. But you're not living. You're behaving like the man who died."

 **Thank you for reading!**


	2. The day ends

**Thanks nagi92! Another chapter released! A shorter one this time, but I hope you enjoy! You guys are probably wondering where Harry's friends are...**

The day ends

By ten o'clock that evening Harry decided it was probably safe for him to leave work. Sometimes it wasn't just the wizard press who were waiting for him. In the early days he'd assumed the ones who jumped on him were the families of the Death Eaters he'd had sent to Azkaban. His world shattered when he learned they were people who'd been on his side too.

As he was fastening his cloak, Kingsley appeared in the doorway again.

"Minister?" Harry hesitated. Strictly speaking, the employees weren't allowed to stay at the Ministry any later than seven unless they had authorization. "You've been working late?"

Kingsley chuckled. "I could say the same thing about you. You're the first to get here and the last to leave. You do know you don't get paid by the hour?"

Harry smiled weakly. "I best be getting home."

"Why is that?"

He faltered. "Because it's where I live."

"You know that's not what I meant. Why do you work so many hours? Dipow works you hard, but not that hard."

Kingsley Shacklebolt had often reminded him of fire. He could be terrifying and destructive when he wanted to be. Harry had seen the man in battle, seen him send prisoners to Azkaban, seen him reduce men to tears with a look. But mainly he was warm and comforting. He invited confidence. He could see no reason to lie to him.

"People wait for me." Harry said honestly. "In the mornings and in the evenings. Mainly the press. So I leave home when they're all still in bed and leave work when they're getting ready for it again."

Kingsley frowned in concern. "We should tighten your security again. I should never have allowed it to be abandoned."

Harry waved it off, suddenly embarrassed. The last thing he wanted was security. "I'm fine. I'm a big boy."

"I'm serious, Harry. I'd do the same for any employee who was being stalked. No matter how capable they thought they were. And a word of advice, you avoiding the press makes you an interesting story. It makes your picture more expensive. I know you don't like the intrusion and I know they'd write a load of shit at first, but if you were to start walking past them again they'd get bored. At the moment you're giving them a show by being so secretive. So bore them instead."

Harry gave a small grateful smile. "Thanks, Kingsley."

"What have you got there?"

Harry froze. The file he'd been trying to carry discreetly under his arm suddenly felt heavy. He should have done a better job of hiding it. He made a mental note to stuff it into the waistband of his jeans next time.

He swallowed. "I was just going to cast my eye of this for Dipow this evening." He said airily. "Nothing important."

"You are an appalling liar, Harry." Kingsley held his hand out for the file.

When Harry eventually handed it over, the Minister didn't look surprised as he thought he would.

Nor was there anger or disappointment on his face. Only sadness. "After all this time?"

Harry swallowed again. "I just read it occasionally." He felt his hands begin to sweat. "It's the case I never cracked. I just like to read it in case I missed something."

Kingsley put the file down and enveloped him in a hug. It was so unexpected but also so welcome. He could feel a tightening in his throat as he tried not to cry. He cursed himself for feeling so weak. Men weren't supposed to feel as deeply as he seemed to. They were supposed to be strong. His weakness made him a child. But it hurt too much to fight.

"You have to let her go." Kingsley said softly. "I know it's hard. You don't need to forget her, but you must move on with your life."

"We never found a body." His lips were dry. "I just feel – we – you know – we never found a body. We don't know that she's gone."

"Harry, it's been five years. Don't think she would have appeared by now?"

"She could have been kidnapped." It blurted out of him as he pulled away. "There's Death Eaters who went missing too. Maybe she's with them?"

"Harry, there's too many maybes." He could tell Kingsley was trying to hide his exasperation. "We explored all the possible options when she first disappeared."

"If we'd explored all the possible options we would have found her by now!" Harry exploded. "A person can't just disappear like that. Not without a trace." He snatched the file back and leafed through it. "This is the smallest file I have. There is no evidence of anything. There is always evidence of something. No trail to follow. The lack of information is suspicious. If she'd died at the battle there'd be a body or a witness. She has been taken by someone who does not want her to be found. Someone clever. Someone dangerous."

"I understand-"

"No you don't understand!" Harry slammed the file on the table, anger searing through him like unbearable heat. "The woman I love has been taken and no one is helping me find her."

He was breathless, his heart pounding, his head thudding. He could feel his hands shaking as he fought the instinct to attack Kingsley, to attack anyone who was stopping him from carrying on with his hunt.

For a second a shadow crossed Kingsley's face. Was it hurt? But then his Minister's face resumed. The one Harry knew he could not argue with.

"She is gone." He said steadily. "I believe she is dead. Many do. It's been five years, Harry. You need to move on with your life." His gaze softened. "Like she would want you to. Stop fighting your grief, Harry. Hermione's gone."

 **Thanks in advance for the reviews! Where do you think Hermione is?**


	3. Time crawls by

**Another chapter! Thanks for reading so far. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Do continue to leave reviews letting me know your thoughts and favourite characters!**

Time crawls by

When Harry opened the door Crookshanks was there waiting with a disapproving scowl. After work he'd decided to spend some hours drinking far too much firewhiskey and was later home than usual. For most young men in their early twenties, having a drink after work would involve being surrounded by friends in a club and drinking more than your liver could bear. For Harry it involved sitting in a park drinking it neat out of a bottle. The only pussy that entered his flat had a tail.

The cat was moving a little slower these days, the vibrant orange fur starting to streak with silver, but he still was quite good at looking like a pissed off tiger.  
"I'm sorry buddy." Harry said softly as he scratched him behind the ears, his head swimming slightly as he knelt down to him. "Let me get your dinner."

As Harry walked into the kitchen he discovered that Crookshanks was probably already feeling quite full. The floor looked like a crime scene of a rat massacre. Seeing the look of horror on Harry's face, Crookshanks smugly sidled past him. That'll teach you, his amber eyes warned.

"You could at the very least eat more of them." Harry complained. "Don't just kill them and leave them here for me to clean up."  
Crookshanks blinked.  
"Fine." Harry sighed. "I deserve it."

It had been five years since Voldemort's death. But those five years had crawled by so slowly he felt more like forty than twenty-two. The Wizarding World breathed a sigh of relief but it was a struggle to get a control of it once more. Like the last time many claimed they were under the Imperio Curse. For some it was true, for most it was a convenient way to escape Azkaban. Some, like Dolores Umbridge, argued that they'd never had anything to do with Voldemort or his Death Eaters and so shouldn't be punished, but their own sins were just as bad. There continued to be intense fighting for the first six months before it started to calm down under the guidance of Kingsley Shacklebolt. These days there was hardly any mention of a Death Eater. He supposed ignoring it was some peoples way of coping. But for Harry it was like putting a bandage on an infected wound. You could hide it all you wanted but it was still there poisoning you. The sleepless nights, trembling and panic attacks were evidence of that.  
Determined to fight his demons, Harry had d accelerated through his Auror course, completing it in one year instead of the usual three. Having been involved in defeating dark wizards for all his adolescence, a lot of the assignments came easy to him. He excelled in dueling and tracking. Problem solving was a little trickier. It made him miss her even more.

Alongside his studies he'd been on the team investigating the disappearance of Hermione Granger. After two years they'd closed his case. After three years they'd declared her dead. Kingsley had insisted he go to counseling. They even diagnosed him with something and gave him potions to take, not that he did. They'd told him there were five stages of grief. He was still battling with the first stage.

After reheating some old sweet and sour, Harry made his way to the bed and hurled himself on to it face down. Tomorrow was the start of the weekend and he made a vow not to move from this position for its entirety. It was rare for Harry to feel comfortable and on this occasion the pillow cradled him like a newborn baby. And his duvet was so soft. He would stay cocooned this weekend and nobody could stop him.  
Crookshanks swatted him angrily, hissing at him to make room. Sharing his bed with a cat was not the life he expected for his twenties. Nonetheless, he adjusted himself and Crookshanks curled up beside him.  
Reheating the sweet and sour had been a mistake. It was disgusting. After fighting down a few mouthfuls Harry gave up and put it on the floor next to an old KFC bargain bucket. KFC. How he fancied a KFC right now.  
On the bedside table was a tower of letters. It had started off as the one invitation, but as he ignored it more had arrived. Apparently telling Ginny he'd see if he were free wasn't good enough either, more letters had arrived insisting that he come along to Dean's birthday party. Why she had to be throwing him this party was quite beyond him. Then again, these days he was aware he was an unsociable old git. Maybe being in your twenties was supposed to make you like parties. Every time she saw him she brought it up. A copy of her mother, Ginny was both nurturing and terrifying. Whenever he went round she clucked over him like a mother hen, but if he tried feeling sorry for himself she would turn into a tigress. He knew she was right. Other people had it far worse.  
But he honestly couldn't face the awkwardness of a social gathering. He always ended up being the entertainment. People were never quite at ease with him. Some would stare in a hushed sort of wonder. Others would obsess over him. A few would shoot him filthy looks. He wasn't sure which was worse. It was like being the main attraction at a zoo. Everyone was tapping on the glass as they watched him, the constant thud a reminder that he would never quite be able to fit in.  
Harry had just made his mind up to not go when he remembered Ron would need his support far more than he would need to wallow in self-pity. He groaned.

 **Yes we'll be meeting Ron soon! See you next time!**


	4. Night steals in pacing the floor

**Another chapter? Sure, why not...In this chapter we meet some Weasley's.**

Night steals in pacing the floor

One of the many things that made Harry an exception Auror was his extreme clarity. There had been jokes that Harry's mind worked like a Pensieve, he was able to venture into any memory and live it all over again. The Auror's saw it as a blessing. Harry saw it as a curse.  
It was incredibly exhausting for his brain to always be on edge. To always be on the lookout for danger. Taste became poison, smiles became sinister, laughter became screams. It was like being a soldier constantly in battle. It made him good at his job, but not very good at his life.  
While everything else about him felt foggy, his mind was clear. While his physicality felt drenched in water, his mind was on fire. He couldn't turn off this magical ability to see things as if they were happening all over again. It just happened. It could be triggered by a sound, a smell, the expression on someone's face. It could be a phrase, the feel of a jacket, the taste of something sweet.

As he was falling asleep it was the breeze coming through the window that did it. The cold air sweeping across his cheek took him somewhere before his head could even hit the pillow….

The killing curse missed him by inches. He was sure he felt it brush against his hair. Despite Voldemort's direct orders not to kill him, a large amount of Death Eaters had chosen not to listen.

The dust from the rubble rose up, filling his lungs, choking him. He could barely see through the smoke, only the occasional flash from a spell lit up his surroundings. Sometimes it was better not seeing. The music of the night were the cries of curses, screams of pain and pitiful wails of those left behind. The overwhelming smell of death and burnt flesh made his eyes water but he couldn't get away. He was needed.

"Stupefy!"  
The Death Eater was blown back with such force he fell off the balcony. Through the smoke he could see a flash of red hair. Harry grinned at his best friend.  
"Nice one, Ron."

Ron had remained his greatest friend for seven years. He often wondered if this was like having a brother. The Weasley's were the closest thing he had to family. He just needed them to get out of this alive.  
Ron winked. "Can't have you dying just yet mate. I may need to use you as a human shield later."

They were up in the Astronomy Tower, part of a group who'd gone looking for the wounded to send down to those acting as healers. In the corner, almost hidden from view, Hermione knelt over a lad with a particularly nasty gash in his leg. When Harry went to take a closer look he instantly regretted it. The white bone was poking through. He gagged. But Hermione was made of stronger stuff. So far he hadn't seen anything faze her. Even the cuts on her face hadn't made her flinch, even though the one on her eyebrow and on her lip looked particularly nasty. Her brown curls were tied away from her determined face as she muttered spells over the wound. She looked beautiful.

"This is Jason Voyd." Despite the chaos she kept her voice calm and collected. "He's been up here for hours, lost a lot of blood. Had the intelligence to play dead."  
Jason gave a grimace of thanks as he gasped through the pain, his face pasty white. "I didn't want that _thing_ to come back. He lost interest when he thought I'd died."  
" _Thing?"_ mouthed Harry.  
" _Greyback._ " Hermione mouthed back.  
Inwardly Harry swore. The healers would be able to fix his leg. They would not be able to fix the curse he now would live with for the rest of his life.  
A large explosion from below jolted him out of his thoughts. The screams of agony pierced through him like a hundred knives.  
"Stay with Jason." Hermione ordered the boys. "I'll go. Get him help quickly. And stay safe."  
Harry wanted to protest but she disappeared into the smoke before he could open his mouth. It was typical Hermione. He'd told her he wanted her to hide away for this, but she'd glared at him so fiercely he quickly backtracked. Deep down he knew she was right. She was an incredible fighter and the only one in their group who knew any healing spells. As usual she was the only one who was really prepared.  
Even though he lifted him as gently as he could, Jason still cried out in pain when Ron lifted him. The blood was draining from his face and he was starting to sweat too. They didn't have much time. As they made their way back to the healing bay Harry held out his wand ready to defend. Although the Astronomy Tower had been won back by their side, their defences wouldn't stay strong forever. Voldemort's army was increasing by the hour while theirs was diminishing. The faces of Tonks and Lupin swam into his head. He quickly dismissed them. There would be time for grieving later – not now.  
They were almost at the hospital wing when another scream shattered through the steady sound of battle. Ron went pale.  
"Ginny!"  
Harry caught Jason as Ron sprinted to the source of the noise. He almost followed, but Jason had slipped into unconsciousness. He was dying. Murmuring a prayer that they would be fine, Harry made his way into the hospital wing.

Molly Weasley was waiting with bandages they'd hurriedly made out of cloaks. Her normally warm face was white with fear but somehow she managed to crackle with energy. Even with her mouth set in a grim line, she was still the same lioness.  
Harry didn't stay long. Ginny's scream was still echoing in his ears. When he saw the corridor was empty he broke out into a run.  
"Ginny?" He shouted, desperately hoping he could be heard over all the noise of battle. "Ron?"  
"Harry! We're here!" It was Ginny. His thighs burning from exhaustion, he forced himself to run faster into the empty classroom.  
Fenir Greyback was not in his wolf form, but he wasn't entirely human either. Even though he hunched over, he still managed to be twice the size of any human. His eyes were as black as the night, seeing everything and nothing all at once. Blood clung to his sharp teeth and dribbled down his chest.  
Ginny at his feet, her ankle twisted. Harry could see in the struggle she had lost her wand. It lay forlorn snapped in two on the stone floor. Ron was stood in front of his sister, frantically making shields to protect them. The shields wouldn't last long. And Greyback would attack before you even managed to point your wand at him.  
So Harry did what he was prone to doing in these sort of situations.  
Something very brave.  
And also something very stupid.  
He threw a rock at him.

When Greyback turned around he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth, his dirty fingers curling up like claws and his eyes darkening to black.

As a child, Harry had frequently found himself getting into scraps with Dudley. Or rather, he'd been at the receiving end of Dudley's fists. It reminded him of the same relentlessness, seeming to get stronger after every attack. Like Dudley, Greyback used his same brute strength. It was only the adrenaline running though Harry's veins that allowed him to keep up. But he was starting to slow down.  
Harry could feel himself starting to panic. It felt like a duel with only one end. His.  
When he fell back and hit his head against the stone wall he knew it was over. He closed his eyes and waited for death.

However just as he was certain he breathed his last, he felt himself be shoved to one side. It was the agonizing cry that made him come to his senses and open his eyes.  
Ron had thrown himself between the pair and lay on the floor screaming as Greyback clawed at his face. The claws had made their way into his eye sockets and he was squeezing his skull. Blood was soaking into his friends red hair. He had seconds.  
"Reducto!" Harry yelled.

The werewolf blew into pieces and the force of the spell lifted Harry off of his feet and sent him flying backwards. The back of his skull met the stone wall and the pain was blinding. Light shone in front of his eyes and he desperately wanted to stay lying on the floor to recover. But it was not over yet.

"Harry!" Ginny was crying as she held her brother in her arms. His blood was pooling onto the floor. "Get help! Harry! Harry! Harry!"

 **Will Ron be okay? Or is he a goner?**

 **Also, I feel like 'Harry did something very brave and also very stupid' is basically a description for the entire series. Gotta love him though.**

 **Stay tuned!**


	5. The moments creep

**Hello everyone - I became aware that the chapter format looks really weird, no idea how this has happened! Just trying to upload again...Thank you for all the reviews so far! Keep them coming!**

"Harry! Harry! Harry!"  
"Nermerf"  
"Harry, wake up"

It was still Ginny's voice. But he was off the stone floor and cosy in his bed. It was so warm and he was so comfortable. Maybe if he closed his eyes tighter she'd piss off.

"Harry I know you're awake, you're not winning any acting awards just yet."

He scowled as he opened his eyes.

Ginny was sat on his bed looking far too chirpy for someone on a Saturday morning. Somehow she always looked immaculate, her straight red hair flowing past her shoulders not a strand out of place, face made up as if she were about to go on a photo shoot and smartly dressed in a tweed blazer like a member of the English aristocracy. Money suited Ginny Weasley. And her job as a Quidditch player meant she was always rolling in it.

She laughed at his expression. "Well you look happy to see me. Good afternoon."

"How did you get in?"  
She shrugged nonchalantly. "I have a key to your flat."  
Harry sat up. "You have a key to my flat?" He said incredulously. "Since when?"

"Since you moved in." Crookshanks nuzzled against her. "Someone had to check up on you. Mum was having kittens when she found out you'd be living alone. Who else do you think throws out the out of date milk? If you were left to your own devices you'd have poisoned yourself by now."

Harry pulled the blankets round him tighter. "Ginny, I don't know if I really like the idea that you've been poking round my things. It's a bit-'

'-Stalkery? Oh completely. But it's not stalking if you care about the person. Someone has to throw out the leftover takeaways, do the vacuuming and pick up your pants.'

He squirmed. 'You pick up my pants?'

'I have a seven day rule. If they're still there after seven days I pick them up with the rest of the washing. Honestly Harry, what did you think was happening? Did you think you had a very quiet house elf?'

'I thought I was keeping on top of things.' He said defensively. Harry decided he didn't much like having his Saturdays invaded by someone who revealed they were his secret cleaner. The pillow looked so soft and inviting. 'I'm not completely useless.'

'Harry.' She put her hand over his. 'You have rats in your sink. You're completely useless.'

'That wasn't me.' There was no use going back to bed now, he grabbed a t-shirt from the pile on the floor. 'That was Crookshanks.'

'Crookshanks filled your sink with bits of dead rat?'

'Well, no. Crookshanks killed them. I put them in the sink.'

'Why on Earth did you put them in the sink?'

He flapped his hands helplessly. 'I don't know. I was pissed. Sinks clean things. It made sense at the time.'

She was enjoying teasing him he could tell. He wondered if all little sisters had a mischievous flair.

'What do you want anyway? Why have you broken into my flat?'

'I told you, I have a key. It's Dean's party and you said you'd be there.'

Harry groaned and flopped back on the pillow. 'No I didn't.'

'Okay, fine you didn't. But I'm not going to take no for an answer, Harry. You're coming even if I have to drag you by the hair.'

'Your threats are really comforting.'

'I'll use a bat bogey hex on you. They're still my specialty.'

'You're such a good friend.'

'Yes, I am a good friend. I'm getting you out of this dismal place. You need to go out and have some fun.'

'That sounds like a lot of effort.'

'Oh no it's easy. Fun is like riding a bike. It seems scary at first when you come back to it, but when you get going you remember just how to do it. Come on, I picked out an outfit for you while you were sleeping. That t-shirts not clean.'  
Harry sniffed it. She was right.

'Look Ginny.' He swallowed. 'I can't go. You know I can't. I'll be over tomorrow like usual.'

'You can go.' Her tone was firm, her gaze unwavering. 'You will go. You can't spend your life hiding away from people.'

'Ginny, you know I hate people staring at me.'

'Once upon a time these people were your friends. They still are. And if anyone is a dickhead let me know and I'll kick them out. I don't want any dickheads in my house.'

Harry snorted. 'I don't think you'd have many guests left.'

'Harry you overthink things. I get it. I do. I've seen the stories that bitch writes in the Prophet. But it honestly is slowing down. If you stopped skulking away and showed your face more people would remember you're a fairly normal guy. The gossip would stop. Okay?'

He wanted to say she was right. More than anything he wanted to walk into a room with confidence again. Perhaps today would be a day to experiment. It's not like she was going to leave without him.

"Fine." He sighed. "I'll come along. But I mean it Ginny; if people get funny then I'm leaving.'

'If people get funny then they're leaving.' She beamed at him. 'Good lad.'

'Awh cheers mate!' Dean said as he unwrapped Harry's gift. It was the latest West Ham shirt. Pale blue sleeves clashing with the maroon body. While Dean often prided himself on his style, it did not apply when it came to merchandise from his beloved team. Certainly the other guests looked confused. Harry guessed a lot of them had never seen a football shirt before.  
Dean had given him a clap on the back when he arrived and a big grin. "Good job Ginny has that spare key, eh?" He'd winked.

So Harry wouldn't have to make an entrance, Ginny had orchestrated it so he would already be there by the time guests started to arrive. Unfortunately that seemed to make things worse. Instead of slipping in quietly, it meant that Harry had to welcome every single guest and make awkward small talk. All the while they stared at him as if he were a tiger in a zoo, one that was coming round from its slumber and could strike at any moment. Was he really so terrifying? He couldn't imagine so.

'It's a football team called West Ham.' Dean was telling the others enthusiastically. 'I've supported them since I was a kid. Best team I tell you. We might not be up there in popularity, but we've got the best team spirit and that's what really matters.'

Seeing people's eyes glaze over, Ginny quickly changed the subject.

They were made for each other. He couldn't think of a more glamorous and genuine couple. When they saw one another their eyes would light up in delight. They had their own smile specially reserved for each other, a smile as if they were the only ones in the room.

Harry realised Ernie Macmillan was talking to him.

'So I said to Dawlish he just had to give in! The man was being utterly ridiculous. Really, Harry, it was obscene. I said to him, this is what I said, I said that if he didn't hand the project over to me I'd be forced to go over his head.' He smiled proudly. 'Luckily he decided to stop being so foolish and gave in and I managed to save the project.' He bowed his sandy head as if he were addressing an adoring audience. As far as Harry was aware, it was just him.

Ernie meant well, and Harry was relieved that Ernie was one of the few people who hadn't tried to sue him, but all the man ever talked about was work. He was involved in the Floo Network Authority and by the way he talked about it you'd think the world would stop moving if their office closed for the day.

'Everything comes back down to transport.' Ernie would smile knowingly as he wagged a finger at them. 'Everything.'

'I'm sure that made Dawlish very sad.' A familiar dreamy voice floated behind him.

Ernie blushed when he saw Luna Lovegood. It was a combination of bewilderment at whatever she was wearing and also the fact he had an enormous crush on her. Today she wore a deep purple robe encrusted with tiny sapphires and embroidered with silver butterflys. The outfit alone was very beautiful, but being Luna she couldn't just leave it there. On her white blonde hair perched a large silver crown seemingly made from unicorn horns.  
"Hello, Harry." Her wide eyes regarded him warmly. "I'm glad Ginny has that spare key, we'd never got you out otherwise." Before Harry could respond she'd turned back to Ernie. "I imagine Dawlish cried when he got home. He's a lovely man. It must have been so sad for him"

'Well,' Ernie flustered, 'I'm sure he was quite sad. But the man just couldn't see reason.'

One of the reasons people found Luna disconcerting was that she rarely blinked. Instead her pale eyes bore into your very soul as if she could find out things about you that you didn't even know. She was doing it to Ernie now.

'Then you must be aware of how that makes you similar.' Luna said serenely. 'Neither of you could see reason with the other. The project could never move ahead until someone stood aside and it happened that it was Dawlish who was wise enough to do that. The wisest path is often the hardest. It must have been so difficult for him.'

Ernie swallowed.

Harry chuckled and decided to leave them to it. Ernie needed to pluck up the courage to ask her out for a drink and he figured he wouldn't be able to do that so long as he had an audience. Then again, it would have been quite entertaining to stay and watch…

Out of the corner of his eye he saw people staring at him over their drinks, their voices low. When he looked at them they met his gaze with a steely defiance. Harry did not recognize them. But that didn't matter. They had a perception of him and there was nothing he could do to change that.  
He felt the back of his neck go cold as he took in the rest of the room. That group were not the only ones who stared at him. Instinctively his hand went to his pocket to grasp his wand. He didn't necessarily intend on using it, but just knowing it was there was a comfort.  
Harry could feel his heart racing as he began to sweat. He became suddenly aware of his breathing. Shallow and ice cold, yet it felt like his lungs were on fire. His vision blurred as the room began to spin, faster and faster until he could barely see. When his legs began to wobble and he thought he might throw up, Harry sprinted in the direction of what he hoped was the other room. As soon as he shut the door he sank to his knees and tried to focus on calming himself down.

Episodes like these had started after he watched Cedric die eight years ago. It was the summer the dementors came for him. Ignored and feeling like he had no one to turn to, resentment burned up in Harry until it almost destroyed him. The episodes only got worse. Shaking. Nausea. Flashbacks. He saw death every time he closed his eyes. In the end he fought sleep, desperately trying to put off the inevitable nightmares.  
Strangely enough it was only on the days he wore the locket did he feel balanced again. He suspected Voldemort did not have the same inner battles.  
And then when she went missing…and it all felt so much worse.

For the first time in years he stifled a sob. He would not cry. No matter what he was a grown man. He wouldn't allow tears to fall as if he were a child. As a little boy he'd rarely cried at all, wails were beaten out of him from a young age. So why now were they swimming in his eyes? He felt disgusted with himself. Weak.

Harry knew he couldn't go back to the party. The music was too loud, the colours too vibrant, the smells of food to pungent. The guests stared at him as if he were a dragon in a cage. A dragon that had previously burned their village down. _"I saved your arses!"_ He wanted to cry out. _"I killed Voldemort!_ "

He still had no regrets about that. But what he did have regrets about were the people who died for him. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore, Sirius, Moody, his parents. All their faces and more swam in front of him looking at him accusingly. They called it Survivor's Guilt. If he could give his life for theirs he would. He stifled another sob.

"Harry?"


	6. Yet I can't bear to sleep

Harry hadn't realised he was in Ron's room until now. With a pang of guilt he remembered promising he would spend some time with him before the party started. He'd make up for it now.

The injuries Fenir Greyback had managed to inflict on his friend were far worse than anything Harry could have possibly imagined even in his wildest dreams. Greyback was only half in his werewolf form, but his claws had contained enough poison to kill. As his nails pierced through Ron's eyes the venom poured into his bloodstream and it stayed there still, eating away at him from the inside. It poisoned his blood and turned his organs to rot. He was completely paralyzed and the Healers warned that over the years he would lose his voice. To keep him alive, Ron was hooked up to an IV that constantly gave him the antidote. It gave him time. It did not cure him. There was no cure.

What was most disturbing about Ron was his eyes. Or rather, lack of them. Greyback had gorged them out and the poison in the sockets was too terrible to allow anything new in its place. It left Ron with two enormous gaping holes in his head, the exposed flesh red raw as if it were on fire. Infections were a constant battle in Ron's life. A long time ago Harry had been squeamish. But part of seeing Ron involved cleaning out his eyes and he never complained. His brother had sacrificed his life for him.

Ron bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming out as Harry dabbed essence of dittany on the wounds with a cotton bud. He always tried to be gentle but the job needed to be thorough. On several occasions over the years a tiny patch had been missed and due to the quickness of the infection, Ron had nearly died.

"Almost done mate" Harry murmured as Ron grunted in pain. "Honestly, twenty seconds."

By the time Harry put it to one side Ron was sweating from exhaustion.

"I wish you wouldn't do that as a greeting." Ron managed to joke, his face pale. "Most people say hello."

"I always say hello." Harry pulled up a chair next to the bed. "I just get it out of the way. If I didn't you'd spend the whole time freaking out as you waited for it. This way you only hate me for the first five minutes."  
Ron laughed. "I'll hate you less if you get out the chess set."

It was typical of their time together. Ron was bedbound, blind and left with Harry as one of his few visitors. He never really had anything new to talk about. Harry on the other hand often did have things to talk about but chose not to. He didn't want to complain about how shit his life felt when his best friend had it considerably worse. So instead Wizard Chess was a great way to pass the time. Ron said it kept his brain active and gave him something to think about when he was left on his own. He was getting so good Harry had stopped playing for money.

"Knight to E4"

Harry looked down at the board. Bollocks. He was losing and the game had barely begun. Slyly he moved into be B4. Ron hadn't been clear enough.

But when Ron didn't hear the Knight beat up Harry's Pawn he frowned. "Harry, are you cheating?"

"No." Harry said innocently. "There was nothing to take."  
"Oh fuck off." Ron laughed. "That was E4." He said louder to the chess pieces.

Ron's knight scowled at Harry before galloping off to E4. Harry winced for his pawn.

"Is Dean enjoying the party?"

"I think so." Harry shrugged. "You know what he's like."  
"So laid back he's horizontal?"

"That's the one."  
"He better be grateful to Ginny."

"Oh he will be. He knows he'd have you to answer to."

"Me? What the fuck can I do from here? Nah. He'd have Ginny to answer to. Even if I were able to thump him, Ginny would still pose more of a threat." He grinned. "How did she persuade you to come out?"

"She broke into my flat."  
"With her spare key?"

"How did everyone apart from me know about the spare key?"

"Well we could hardly tell you, you'd get the locks changed."

Harry could only smile. "I suppose I do hide away too much."

"You could hide away from me more. Last time you came you'd been out for a run and hadn't showered. I've gotta put my foot down, Harry. You can only see me when you're looking presentable. And I'll be able to tell."

For the hundredth time Harry felt a swelling of pride in his chest at Ron's teasing. How he kept his spirits up was beyond him.

"You've been thinking about her again, haven't you?"

It caught him off guard. The warm feeling suddenly went cold as if ice had stabbed through his heart. "How did you-"

"When someone goes blind their other senses increase. Apparently mind reading is one of my senses."  
Harry was startled. "Really?"

"Nah. Just got lucky. What have you been thinking?"

He hesitated. Despite his relationship with Hermione, he knew that Ron had been in love with her too. He never said it out loud, but there are some things between friends you just know without a word having to be spoken. When he asked Ron if he could ask Hermione out he'd stepped aside and wished them well. There'd never been a single complaint, but Harry never felt entirely comfortable discussing their relationship with him.  
Then again, Ron was entitled to ask questions about his missing friend and the woman he loved. Harry had always promised to share every piece of evidence with him, every update on the case.

"I still think she's alive." He said honestly. "I want to reopen the investigation."  
His mouth dropped open when Ron replied. "I agree. I've never thought she was dead."

"Really?"

"'Course. We'd know."

Harry smiled. If he'd said that to anyone else they'd have thought he had delusions of grandeur. They'd remind him he was no Seer. It felt good that Ron was the one who said it.

"There'd have been a body." Ron continued. "Something. We found something of everyone else presumed dead."  
Harry grimaced. They'd found things he'd rather forget. Things he still had nightmares about.

"And the other side would be raving if they had killed her." Ron was becoming more animated now, his cheeks becoming flushed. "Absolutely raving. No one has even mentioned it. No on even remembers fighting her."  
"Then where is she?"

"Someone's got her." Ron said confidently. "Some sick bastard has her and she needs our help. They've not said anything yet because they're waiting for more people to come out of hiding. They're waiting for something to happen. I mean, we didn't manage to track down every Death Eater did we?"

"The Carrows are in Azkaban." Harry had already gone through his list at home. "So is Yaxley, The Goyles and Junior, Crabbe, Avery, The Flints and Burke. Lucius Malfoy, Dolohov, Nott and Yaxley are still out. The rest are dead."

"Well it's got to be one of those four!"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not sure. They might be free of Azkaban but they're still under house arrest."

Ron scowled. "I still don't understand how they all got off."

"Nott and Yaxley were supposed to have died by now." Harry shrugged. "They're very ill. They'd been using Dark Magic to fight their sickness. Now they're having to die a horrible death. I think that's worse than Azkaban."

When Ron didn't say anything, Harry inwardly winced. It hadn't been the most sensitive thing to say when Ron was sharing the same fate.

"I hope I see her before I go." Ron said softly.

"Well you won't be going any time soon." Harry replied with more fierceness than he intended. "We're both young."

Ron turned his head to him. For a second it was like Ron's blue eyes were piercing into his.

"You've not thought any more about what I asked you?"

Harry swallowed and focused on the chessboard.

"Checkmate."

 **Sorry this story took a break! I hope to be posting more chapters soon! Let me know your thoughts xx**


	7. Til I hear you sing

**So it seems that FanFiction did not like my Chapter 7? Not sure why this keeps on happening...Here is Chapter 7 reposted and hopefully this will work! Thank you for bearing with me and I hope you are enjoying the story**

 **'Til I hear you sing**

She clung to him with such fierceness it hurt. It wasn't the way she gripped onto him that caused him pain; it was knowing that after this moment he'd never see her again. This was it. This was goodbye.

She smelt like summer. Flowers, newly cut grass and pages of a book. Normally he would fuss if her curls were in his face and push them away, but in this moment he breathed them in.

When they came nose to nose he studied her face. As if he could count every freckle. If he could memorize the softness of her cheeks. The way her lips softly parted as she saw him.

After a while he wasn't sure whose tears were on his cheeks.

"Please stay." Hermione held onto his hand. They were so small and warm. "It doesn't have to be like this, there is always another way."

"Not this time." The words came out of his mouth before he even had time to think. "You know if I thought there was another way I would take it."

She nodded chewing her lip. He wanted to kiss her again, but he knew once he started he'd never stop.

"When the snake dies that will be it." Harry knew he had to leave her with some hope. "He'll be triumphant and the shields will come down. That will be the moment to strike and then-"

"And then we'll kill him." She finished.

Harry was glad she didn't say it with relish. But the bitterness she said it with pulled at his heart nonetheless. When she nestled into his arms he held her tight.

"You're the cleverest witch I know." Harry swallowed. "You can do anything. I believe in you. You'll make things right when it's all over. The world is going to need someone to look after it."

"That someone should be you." A small voice murmured into his chest.

Harry laughed weakly. "Come on, Hermione. We both know I've only ever been the poster boy. You're the one who is really in charge."

He felt her give a watery chuckle. Her fingers curled around his t-shirt as if she could pull him in even closer. In the distance he saw the clock. He was running out of time.

"Hermione," he began gently.

"Don't you dare." She looked up at him with surprising fierceness. Her brown eyes were burning with fire. "Don't you dare try and leave me here. This is not how it's supposed to be."

"Hermione, I have to go."

His heart broke as she shoved him away. "Then go." She said harshly. "Don't try and fight this. Go and do exactly what he wants. Go and get your sainthood."

He felt tears in his eyes. "Hermione, please-"

The young witch was retreating away from him. She shook with fury, even her hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

"Just fuck off." She whispered. "Fuck you."

The air hung silent between them. In that moment, Harry felt like all the colour of the world had bled dry. It felt hollow. Dead.

More than anything he wanted to reach out for her, but only minutes remained before Voldemort would resume his attack. His time was running out.

One last look at the girl he loved. In those moments it seemed like she'd aged. Her flushed face seemed gaunt and there was a hardness in her brown eyes that sparkled with tears. As her fists curled, she chewed on her lip and pinched her eyebrows. Hermione seemed like an animal facing attack. And to him she still looked beautiful.

His chest was starting to constrict now. If he left it any longer he'd never go. "Bravery is being scared but doing it anyway" he said to himself. He was petrified. Bile rising in his throat he walked away.

Every step felt like a step further into the grave. It was impossibly heavy and a few times he staggered under the weight of it all.

"Harry!"

Hermione flung herself at him and met his mouth with hers. Their kiss was urgent, passionate, safe. Her hands raked though his hair while he held onto her waist like he would never again let go.

"One minute, Harry Potter."

The booming voice of Voldemort broke them apart. It shook through the grounds like the beginnings of an earthquake.

Harry turned to face her.

"It's okay." Tears spilled down her face as she tried to smile encouragingly. "It's okay."

When the words wouldn't come out Hermione held his hands. "I'm sorry for what I said. You are brave. You can do this. You can fight this."

Harry swallowed. "You need to go back to the castle. They can't find you. I need you to stay safe."

Something flickered over her face that he couldn't quite read.

"I'll hide away. I'll stay safe."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"You'll stay with me?"

"Until the very end"

"They won't be able to see you?"

"We are part of you. Invisible to anyone else."

"Stay close to me"

"Always"

When Voldemort's body hit the floor he felt his knees buckle. The defeated foe seemed frailer in death. His greying skin thinly stretched over his skeletal body, bones jutting out so prominently it was a wonder he'd even had the strength to fight. But that wasn't what shocked Harry the most. It was how old he looked.

A scream erupted around him as a hundred voices joined together in celebration. Ginny was laughing and crying as she clung onto him. Sean and Dean lifted him onto their shoulders and paraded him around. Everyone wanted to talk to him, to congratulate him, to embrace him. Harry went through it all in a daze.

When they finally let him go, he ran to the makeshift hospital wing.

Mrs Weasley was still there, humming softly as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. When she saw him she smiled.

"Well done, dear."

Ron's head lay in her lap like a child, his eyelids were closed but he looked far from peaceful. Blood covered his deathly pale face, blending in with his fiery red hair. Harry was reminded of a puppet with his strings cut. More than anything he wanted to see him get up again.

"Will he-" The question caught in his throat.

"We don't know. Here's still alive and for now that's enough."

Harry wanted to say more. To console, to help, to heal. But he didn't know where to start. He'd never been good at words, that was always Hermione's forte.

"Where's Hermione?"

Mrs. Weasley wiped a tear from her cheek. "I don't know, dear." She said absently. "I thought she was with you." The tune she hummed was one he did not recognize. A lullaby. Harry wondered if his own mother had ever sung it to him. Seeing Ron looking so broken was too much. He wasn't strong enough for this right now.

He swallowed. "I'll fetch Hermione. She'll want to see him."

Mrs. Weasley made no sign she'd heard him. She was in a world with her youngest son, rocking him as if he were her baby once more. For Harry who had grown up without a family, he felt oddly out of place. It was like looking through a window at a joy from which he must for be forever barred.

The Great Hall was a place of splendor. No one would have been able to guess the horrors that had taken place before. Someone had coated the walls in tapestries of gold while the sky above glittered with diamonds. The crowds feasted on food and drink he could only presume had been meant for the student's dinner. Music and laughter swirled in the air as people hugged, danced and cried out in joy.

Yet Harry found no joy in it all. To him it seemed like a rather garish affair. He'd just come from where the wounded lay, he'd walked past where they'd put the dead. Had anyone given them a thought?

The faces in the crowd seemed to blur into one, but finally he saw Ginny sitting quietly on one of the benches, seemingly unaffected by the celebration around her.

As Harry sat beside her, he realised she'd been crying.

"Sorry." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "This is your moment, don't let me spoil it."

"It's not my moment, Gin."

She hiccupped. "Dad's taken George for a walk. He's taken it really hard. Fleur's with Bill, they were going to talk to Remus some more about his injuries but" she flailed her hands. Instinctively, Harry took one. It seemed to settle her.

"Percy is helping with the arrests." Her voice grew stronger. "Without their precious Lord a lot of them seem to have just given up. The Malfoys surrendered before his body even hit the floor."

Harry grimaced. "No surprise there then."

She managed a laugh. Then her eyes filled with tears again. "How's Ron?"

"He's alive." He parroted what Mrs. Weasley had said. "And for now that's enough."

Seamus was dancing an Irish jig on the table. He didn't seem to be very good at it but his audience seemed happy enough. Dean threw apples at him to try and knock him off. Harry watched as Ginny's eyes softened.

"You seen Hermione?"

"No? I thought she was with you?"

It was the same for Neville and for Luna. Hagrid remembered seeing her by the forest but said the whole day had been a blur. Professor McGonagall last saw her heading for the library. For Professor Flitwick it had been the Gryffindor Tower.

"Hogwarts is so big." Ernie said encouragingly. "You're probably going round in circles trying to find one another. Stay here and have a drink."

It wasn't until Kingsley came to him, his brown eyes grave, did Harry realise something was seriously wrong.

"Harry, where's Hermione?"


	8. And weeks pass

**21 days missing**.

The rain was relentless. The torrential downpour of silver hard and unforgiving. Each drop as cold and cutting as ice, the sharpness slashing at any exposed skin it could find. It flooded the streets of London as if trying to wash away the grime. A howling wind whirled through the day and screamed through the night, causing whatever devastation it could.

The muggles were perplexed by June's aggressive change in weather and it dominated their conversations. Where was their summer? Little did they know the chill they were experiencing came from something more.

 _Crack._

A solitary figure emerged from the shadows. Without so much as a coat, the boy was already drenched. Looking over his shoulder, he quickened his pace. Not looking where he was going he stepped in a puddle and cursed his wet foot.

Moving away, he realised a puddle was not the only thing he'd stepped on.

 **HERMIONE GRANGER STILL MISSING** the headline screamed. **AURORS FEAR WORST.**

It felt like a stamp on the chest. Curling his hands into fists, Harry Potter continued to keep his head down as he headed towards the Ministry of Magic.

Reporters stalked him after the Death of Voldemort because they wanted to capture his triumph. When the news was forced to break about Hermione three days later, they followed him because they wanted a sob story.

 **TRIUMPH TINGED WITH TRAGEDY.**

Since the end of Voldemort, work had begun trying to rebuild the Ministry. It wasn't easy. As with last time, a lot of people claimed to be victims of the Imperius Curse. For some it was true, Stan Shunpike had been one of them and was now happily back on the Knightbus telling anyone he could about his time as an unwilling servant to the Dark Lord. Others like Dolores Umbridge swore until they were blue in the face. A new law was passed that decreed Veritiserum could be used in all legal cases. The acting Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, received a lot of backlash for it, but as each person was found guilty the rabble died down.

Harry had demanded he be at the head of the team searching for Hermione. It had greatly ruffled the feathers of the senior aurors that a mere boy was insisting on leading one of the highest profile cases, even if he had killed He Who Must Not Be Named. Eventually Kingsley had persuaded Harry that someone with more experience needed to take charge, but he could work on the case too, skipping the necessary Auror training.

As Harry entered Gawain Robards' office he fought hard to hide his grimace.

Robards had a face as sharp as a flint and no detail escaped his notice. Everything about his appearance was meticulous. His sleek black hair pulled back tight into a ponytail, lined with the beginnings of silver, pulled at his face emphasising even more the sharp angles of his cheekbones. But it was his eyes that were his most powerful feature. The iris in his round eyes were more prominent and a startling colour of molten gold. In contrast his pupils were a piercing black. As Robard looked at him, Harry was reminded once more of an eagle.

"Potter." His voice was soft, but sharp. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Make it fast. I'm trying to sort out these unruly dementors."

Robard made it abundantly obvious on a daily basis that he didn't like Harry. He'd thanked him with the rest of the aurors for defeating Voldemort, but it was clear that he only did so out of duty. Harry occasionally wondered if he'd sought the glory himself.

"Another lead." There was no point trying to exchange pleasantries. "I managed to track down Hermione's parents." Harry put the paper on his desk.

Robard curled his lip. The department had been looking for them for weeks, Australia being their only lead. When Harry had offered his services he'd been turned down, and now here they were.

It was simple really. Simple if you knew Hermione Granger. She would never risk writing down their address, but she was smart enough to leave clues. Harry had trawled through her books every night before finally coming across various messages scribbled in the margins, seemingly about the content of the book. But Harry knew better. Each message had a spelling mistake that, when put together, revealed the new address of the Granger's.

Harry had only been working with Robard for three weeks, but he knew by now not to expect a thank you. However, as he turned to leave Robard caught his attention.

"There's something I want you to read."

When Harry turned to face the older man he scowled in disgust at the Daily Prophet that was being pushed towards him.

"I don't have time for this."

"Yes, you do." Robard said tersely. "You work for me. Your time is my time. Now read it."

 **MISSING PRESUMED DEAD**

Hermione's photo beamed up at him. She was in her lilac dress robes so he guessed it must have been taken at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He'd spent the whole evening wanting to kiss her. Hermione's photographic self was shyly brushing away the tendrils that fell in her face. It was no use. Her curls had always had a mind of their own.

"Stop smiling. Start reading." Robard's voice cut through his memory.

 _Hermione Granger (17) has now been missing for three weeks and the Auror Office is expected to release a report before the month is up, Rita Skeeter can reveal._

 _Miss Granger was last seen at the Battle of Hogwarts, her final moments being placed by the forest He Who Must Not Be Named was residing in with his followers. It is unknown what her purpose was there, so far away from the battle. While many fans will say she was taking the opportunity to save Harry Potter, others have voiced that she may have been doing the opposite._

 _"She was always hungry for power." A close source confides in me. "First Victor Krum, then Harry Potter. I guess eventually he wasn't enough for her anymore and she turned to someone darker." My source was also able to reveal to me that on that fateful day, Miss Granger was seen with a bandage covering her arm. Caring for a wound? Or perhaps something a little more sinister?"_

Harry threw the paper to the floor in disgust, his fists shaking. "Hermione's a muggle born." He snarled. "What the fuck is Skeeter implying? That Voldemort put aside his golden rule for her? I want her fired."

"You hold no authority over the Daily Prophet." Robard sounded bored, but the angry flush of his cheeks suggested otherwise. "And may I remind you that any small authority you do hold, I give you. If I need to I can take it away."

"This is slander!"

Robard smacked the table. The noise made Harry flinch. "This is the media. I've not asked you to leap to Miss Granger's defence, I've asked you to investigate." His dark eyes bore into Harry's. "All areas."

"You can't mean?"

"We can't find her. There are no traces. It's like the girl has ceased to exist. This lead is fanciful, but it is still one that needs to be explored. People are talking; we may as well investigate to put their gossip to bed."

Harry scowled. "People should learn to shut their mouths." He'd not forgotten the rumours that had followed him over the years; it felt like not even time would make him more forgiving.

"People never will." Robard said firmly. "If you give them something to talk about they will talk about it. So give them a better story."

 **HERMIONE GRANGER CONFIRMED DEATH EATER**

 _Rita Skeeter can report that the Auror Department are investigating claims made by the Daily Prophet that Hermione Granger was a Death Eater in He Who Must Not Be Named top ranks._

 _Fans will be devastated to hear that Miss Granger took the mark earlier this year and was instrumental in the various attacks made on Harry Potter and Ron Wazalib as they hid away from Hogwarts._

 _I was able to get an exclusive interview with a notorious Death Eater, Vincent Maddox, about Miss Granger's devastating betrayal._

 _"Hermione was being trained to be the new Bellatrix." Maddox confesses from his cell in Azkaban. "He Who Must Not Be Named was getting tired by Bellatrix's instability and wanted to trade her in for a younger model. After years of being in Potter's shadow, Hermione came forwards and offered her services and He Who Must Not Be Named was all too delighted to accept."_

"Right I'm taking that off of you; you're beginning to froth at the mouth."

They were in Ginny Weasley's kitchen. Since the arrival of the post, Harry had been hunched over the newspaper seething with rage. The soothing yellow tranquillity of Ginny's kitchen pissed him off even more. It was so normal. But nothing was normal. She was still gone.

"I'm going to fucking kill her."

"Well I wouldn't say that too loud." Ginny thrust a cup of tea in his hands. "Can't have you going to Azkaban for intent to kill."

At his scowl she picked up the newspaper and scanned it quickly. She smirked. "Ron Wazalib? I'll have to get his details changed."

"How can you joke at a time like this?" He felt the anger burning through him. "How can you make light of this? All the while the Auror department are having to follow this pathetic lead, we have less people to investigate other areas." He threw the cup of tea onto the floor and felt instant satisfaction when the cup smashed.

There was a pause.

Harry felt himself breathing very fast, his eyes only able to focus on the liquid spreading through the cracks of the tiles on her kitchen floor, a dozen different lines breaking off to find a new path. He only really came to when he heard Ginny's voice.

She was crouched on the floor with a tea towel, her lips pursed. "Yes, Harry." She said bitterly. "Just think about you. I quite liked that cup but you needed something to break. That's fine-"

He cringed. "Gin-"

"I mean we all know that Harry can be an absolute dramaqueen, so just put up with it until he gets it out of his system. That's all we ever do. Wait for his tantrum and move on. Then wait until the next one. It's not like anyone else has ever lost anything - aargh!"

She'd sliced her hand on a shard of the cup and now blood was pouring down her wrist. Quickly, Harry grabbed a clean teatowel and knelt beside her, pressing it down on the wound. She'd started to cry.

"It just hurts."

He knew she didn't mean the cut.

"I'm sorry, Gin." Harry whispered. "I was out of order."

She nestled against him. He'd not felt the warmth of someone else in a long time. "Mum got me a set of those cups when I moved out." Ginny said softly. "I broke one before I moved in. I broke another when I was trying to find a place to put them. I knocked one off the counter last week and it smashed, and now..." she flailed her hands hopelessly. "I've not got many left. They're all going."

Harry put his arm around her. Since Fred's death and Ron's injury, the Weasley family were struggling not to fall apart. Mrs Weasley flocked between bouts of wailing in her room and fussing around organising everyone insisting in far too bring a voice that 'everything's fine'.

George had been checked into St. Mungo's for therapy since the funeral and was now denying all visitors. Bill was also at St Mungo's recovering from his wounds and Charlie was still struggling not to kill Percy for being a traitor.

Meanwhile, Mr Weasley went for long walks and rarely spoke.

During all of this Ginny had tried to throw herself into her new Quidditch training. She'd been given an amazing opportunity, training to become a professional player while studying for her NEWTs at night school. The only problem was her magic had not returned to her since the battle.

Harry could see why she needed to make a joke.

"I'm sorry for not thinking about you." He swallowed. "I know I can be selfish. There's so many people out there struggling after all of this. You're doing so amazingly, sometimes I forget how hard it is on you too."

Ginny peeped up at him and gave a watery smile.

"I'm sorry for being an absolutely drama queen."

"Harry, you're not really being a drama queen. Well, not at the moment. You can be. You're hurting. But other people are hurting too, okay?"

Harry looked down at the remains of the yellow cup in the towel. "Reparo."

It was towards the end of a meeting Kingsley brought up her name. Around 40 ministerial officials seated at a long table strewn with parchment, books and quills. There was a representative from every department, each given the opportunity to bring forward their concerns or share any good news. Unfortunately, the concerns significantly outweighed the good news.

Initially Harry had been sent home, a scathing remark by Robard reminding him of his junior status ringing in his ear, but Kingsley had sought him out and insisted he join them. So now Harry sat beside Robard, who seemed to take great pleasure in acting like there was a foul smell under his nose.

As the hours dragged on, the feeling of helplessness rose. This was a grieving nation bent on self-destruction. A new riot every night held by people from all walks of life, stealing, fighting or protesting. He supposed rioting made them feel like they had some form of control. It was clear to Harry now that they'd only won a battle. There was still a war.

"Have we got any leads on Hermione?"

No, Minister." Robards never took the time to sound apologetic. "We hope to-"

"I found her parents."

Beside him, Harry felt Robard roll his eyes back into his skull. What was the man's problem?

"Hermione left some clues and I worked it out. When we find them -"

"If I may, Minister. " Robard cut in. "I don't think it's a lead worth investigating. You remember Miss Granger modified her parents memory? If she was still concerned about her their safety she would never go to them or let them know any information than could endanger them. If we return their memories and they learn their daughter is missing, it will only cause them emotional harm. Besides, Miss Granger never left the country."

It certainly did seem that way. Harry himself had spent hours looking over footage of airports, ferries, floo networks and apparition points amongst others. He'd trawled through thousands of tickets on the hope of seeing a name jump out that would be a clue.

Kingsley's face was grim. He'd only been Minister for three weeks, but already his face was lined with stress. "What is the likelihood of her being held captive?"

Robard shrugged. "It is a distinct possibility. My only wonder is why they still have not made a song and dance about it yet."

"Perhaps they are biding their time." Hestia Jones spoke up. "If they attack too soon they would lose. By waiting they can get a strategy in place, maybe even decide on a ransom."

"Do you think we could end up having another war?" A wizard Harry did not know looked like he was ready to pass out of his chair.

Hestia gave him a look Professor McGonagall would have been proud of. "It seems unlikely. I would guess that it's a small group who would rather not face such a long time in Azkaban, seeking to use Miss Granger as a bargaining chip. We have to ask ourselves now, how much are we prepared to give?"

"Everything." Harry interrupted. He couldn't understand why they were questioning it. "Whatever they ask for they'll get. The safety of the hostage is always most important."

Robbard raise a finger to silence him. "And when the criminals of the world see us bow down before scum of the earth, they will see how much they can try. And then the next lot. And the next. And the next. Acceptance breeds terror."

"We're not accepting it." He felt his neck flushed with anger. "But we can't do anything that risks hurting one of our own."

"So if Dolohov came in here now with Miss Granger and demanded to walk free you would be happy to agree?" The sides of Robard's lips twitched. "You would give him a nice curtsey and wish him well on the road?"

"Well, no. But-"

"Ah. So we'll agree to his terms and then turn around and throw him in Azkaban?"

"Gawain," Hestia said softly, "don't."

He ignored her. "Then anyone who could be persuaded to come to us for a deal would know that we'll just betray them. People facing a petty sentence who could have it reduced in exchange for information now feeling they cannot trust us. Is that what you want?"

Harry clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. Robard's eyes were on him, boring into his skull. He looked down at his lap. Why did the man have to treat him like a child?

"Why do you have to act like one?" He muttered.

"Stop." Kinglsey massaged his temple with his fingertips. "Enough. It's late and we're all tired. Robard, I've trusted you to train Harry up. Do not make me doubt my judgement. Harry, if they come to us with terms for Hermione we'll see what they are and if there is room for negotiation. If they are unreasonable." His mouth set in a grim line. "We will attack."

 **Thank you so much for all of the reviews so far! Please do keep them coming so I know what you like and I can add more of it into my story! (:**


	9. And months pass

**121 days missing.**

Robard had worked Harry like a dog. Worse than a dog. At least a dog gets given a bone every once in a while. Robard would set Harry mundane task after mundane task, all accompanied with a snide comment, yet Harry would never complain. Instead he worked hard to get the job done, to do it well and with plenty of time to spare. Not once did he get a thank you or told he did good. It wasn't that Robard was incapable of thanking his staff, Harry had seen him with other employees and it was like watching a different man at times.

He would be able to get over it if it weren't for the fact Robard was slowly removing him from Hermione's case. With all the menial jobs he had to do, Harry barely had time to look into the leads he wanted. Australia had been completely forbidden, the information he brought to the table jotted down and then stored away. But there were so many other things he could do. Yet each time Harry knocked on the door...

"Sir?"

"No."

It felt pointless.

Hermione had now been missing for months and he felt himself growing more and more desperate every day. Each day she hadn't been found was a day she could be in trouble. Death Eaters had been pulled out of hiding, but so far no one had any shred of information. Hardly anyone remembered seeing her.

"Potter." A stack of papers hit his desk, pulling him from his daydream as Robard's clipped tone filled the room. "I don't pay you to sit around and stare into space all day. Have these sorted by lunch."

Harry glanced down at them. More witness statements on the most recent riot. Unfortunately they'd not caught the instigator yet, but with hundreds of witnesses including Ministry officials, you could pretty much guarantee they were all going to say the same thing. He would need more caffine for this.

"Yes, sir."

"After that I need someone to go through the evidence room." Robard was already walking out the door. "Most of it can be thrown out. But you'll need to photograph and file it first."

"Yes, sir."

Robard paused, his hand on the door frame. He turned his head ever so slightly. "Quite the obedient errand boy, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

At Robard's departure he breathed a sigh of relief and picked up the first paper. The questionnaire had asked for the witnesses to be as detailed as possible, however this recipient had taken that far too literally. For a statement regarding a riot in the evening, the man had decided to start by detailing his breakfast. Deciding he needed a chuckle later, Harry put it to one side.

He was just navigating his way through the winding corridors to return the papers to Robard, when Dawlish gave him a clap on the shoulder.

"Harry, my boy!" The old man winked merrily. "I can't begin to imagine how pleased you are, eh?"

When Harry looked at him quizzically, Dawlish frowned. "The remaining Death Eaters, lad. They've caught them. Harry!"

Harry had dumped the pile of papers in his arms and was now running as fast as he could for Robard's office.

He just caught the man as he was packing up his desk, cloak already fastened round his shoulders. Unsurprisingly, Robard didn't look pleased to see him.

"You heard?" He scowled, the skin of his neck flushing.

"Was anyone found with them?"

Robard's jaw clenched as his golden eyes surveyed Harry. The two opposites glaring at one another. Whereas one wore his heart of his sleeve, the other kept it close to his chest.

"Fine." The older man spat out. "Just keep your mouth shut."

Life out of favour did not suit Yaxley. Voldemort's right hand man had grown cadaverous since his downfall. His papery thin flesh clung to his skull, wrinkling around the mouth and sunken pale blue eyes. The bluntness of his features that had once held a foreboding strength, now under the wan skin he looked like he was shrivelling away. The blonde hair he'd kept tied back had grown unkempt, the grease around his scalp only highlighting where it was thinning.

The remaining Death Eaters had been discovered in the sewers beneath Glastonbury. Hundreds of years previously, witches and wizards had hidden there to escape persecution from muggles. It had become a playground for the children who couldn't yet control their magic. An old legend said if you put your ear to the stone walls you could still hear their laughter.

That romantic notion was lost on Harry. It was a sewer. Thin, winding tunnels with floors that ran with piss and all that could be heard was the shrieking and scrabbling of rats. It was an appropriate graveyard for the last of Voldemort's followers.

Yaxley had been brought to his knees, a wand held to his jugular forcing his face up to look at all of them. When his eyes fell on Harry he turned away and spat.

Harry failed to feel any sympathy when he saw the blood in his phlegm.

"Does it make you feel strong, Potter?" The huskiness of his Scottish accent marred by the growl of the infection. "Picking on a dying man who just wanted to see out his days in peace?"

Yaxley grunted as Robard grabbed his hair, pulling his head back further. "As strong as you felt when your tortured children?" Robard spat. "And murdered them? I'm sure they would have liked to see out their day in peace too."

Yaxley gave a bitter laugh. "Where you see children I see scum who need to be eradicated. It's merely a difference of opinion."

It was no surprise when Robard punched him in the face. Harry gave a smirk of satisfcation as Yaxley landed in the urine, but Robard gave no reaction at all.

"The corpses been verified?"

"Jugson and Nott." The auror kicked the hand of one of the bodies. "But still fresh. Can't be any more than a few days old."

Avery, the Carrows, Goyle Senior and a handful of Snatchers flinched as the bodies of their friends were vanished. Like Yaxley, life in hiding did not suit them and they looked as feral as the rats they cohabited with. Robard turned his attention to them, his cool gaze holding a steely threat.

"We were expecting to see more of you." His voice cut through like a knife. "Crabbe and Macnair?

"Dead too." Avery's voice was hoarse, like a man who'd not spoken in months. "I burned their bodies myself. Take a couple of lefts and then a right. There's probably still some remains left."

Robard nodded at a couple of Aurors who went sprinting off.

"What have you been living off?"

"We packed some supplies." Tears filled Amycus' bulging blue eyes, his sandy hair only adding to the imagine of a small, very ugly, child crying. "We were waiting for it all to die down and make an escape." He gave a pathetic wail that made Harry grimace. "I don't want to go to Azkaban!"

Robard smacked him across the mouth. The slap shocked him into silence.

"I cannot abide blubbering." He sounded bored. "When I question you later, I ask you to have the decency to answer me coherently. Is that understood?"

Amycus nodded as he eyed him in terror, his chins quivering.

"Where's Hermione?" The question shot out of Harry before he could stop himself. "What have you done with her?"

Alecto's mouth sprung open, her eyes wide as saucers. "That Granger girl? We've not seen her."

It twisted through his chest like a white hot knife. "You're lying!"

"Enough, Potter!" Robard was by his side in an instant, his jaw clenched in anger. "Back to my office now."

"But sir -"

"Don't make me ask you again."

No doubt Robard hadn't meant for Harry to go through his things, but he hadn't specified not to. As Harry turned another box of papers upside down, he swore to himself he'd have everything tidied up by the time his boss returned.

THE MALFOY FILE

No one had understood why Harry had chosen to speak up for the Malfoy's in court. A conniving, proud family who once more had ended up on the wrong side of history. They'd never been friendly to one another and nothing had changed. So the people wondered why Harry stood in front of the ministers and begged them to allow the Malfoy family another chance at life.

Harry himself didn't know. After pestering from Ginny he'd said it was because Narcissa had lied to Voldemort about his death, but the truth felt far more complicated. It was the wounded feral look he'd seen in the Malfoy patriarch when they were at the Manor. It was the fear he saw falling down Draco's cheeks on the night of Dumbledore's death. It was the way Narcissa ran her hands through her sons hair when the battle was won. It was complicated.

The file contained the separate questioning Lucius and Narcissa had undergone about Hermione's disappearance. Notes in the margins ticked to verify their alibis. They'd obeyed in having their property searched and even offered some ideas of their own.

But Harry's blood was boiling. When they'd told him to stay behind due to conflict of interests, they'd assured him everyone would be interrogated. So where was the file on Draco Malfoy?

The brand was cheap but Draco had never seen the point in wasting money on something that was going to be burned. As he put the cigarette between his lips it lit instantly, drawing the fire into his lungs. It tasted terrible but at least the warmth was there. He held it in there for as long as he could, like an imaginary weight ready to suffocate him. In the end his own primal need to survive fought back and he coughed, choking on the battle between air and fire.

He'd been hidden in the comforting walls of St Mungo's for three months now. The Healers greeted him every morning with bright cheerful smiles, the foreheads furrowed in concern, but the eyes were windows to the soul and they never lied. Their eyes burned with resentment for him. What he represented. Why should he live while others lie silent in their graves. George Weasley certainly thought that way. Draco had used legilimency on him once just to see what he was thinking and now it was like a song that he couldn't get out of his head.

It was his own insistence he go to St Mungo's. No doubt the thought of his son receiving treatment for night terrors was something that made Lucius Malfoy ill. Malfoy men were supposed to be strong. But Draco hadn't felt strong since he'd been made to bow before the man who looked and smelt of death. It felt like the memories of torture would never leave him. So he'd checked himself into St Mungo's and hoped for the best. A time away from the childhood home he'd once loved but now feared. Tucked out of sight of the world he wondered why he wasn't in Azkaban with the rest of them. If only he'd known he was just exchanging one hostile audience for another. His habit of fag breaks had started after that. Hidden here in the courtyard was like another sanctuary, away from prying eyes and whispers.

Draco glanced down at the stub of his cigarette. Red hot. So promising.

Suddenly, he felt his shoulders grabbed as he was slammed against the brick wall, his head hitting back so hard he could see stars.

"What the fuck?"

"Where's Hermione?"

As Draco's vision sharpened again into focus he saw his old enemy and laughed. He'd expected golden boy to be strutting around in the latest fashions with a smug smile on his face. This guy looked like he'd not slept in weeks and had permanent stubble on his cheeks. He'd not even got himself new glasses.

"Hello, Potter. Fancy seeing you here."

Potter pulled out his wand and pressed it to his temple. "Where's Hermione?"

Draco scowled. He couldn't be bothered to get involved in lovers tiffs. Particularly in ones who he'd spent years hating. No doubt they'd had an argument and she'd stormed off, leaving Saint Potter to do his usual trick of blaming everyone but himself. "I don't know. I've been here for three months. Ask anyone."

"She's been missing for four." A piece of spittle landed on Draco's cheek. In annoyance he wiped it away. But then he saw it. That crazed desperation in Potter's eyes. Having been on the wrong side of the war, it was a look he'd seen all too often. He wasn't exaggerating. He was scared.

"She's missing?"

"Don't act like you don't know." Yet Potter loosened his grip. "It's been all over the papers. She went missing at the Battle of Hogwarts."

The news certainly took him aback. Granger missing? He'd always thought someone like her too smart to be kidnapped. When she'd appeared at Malfoy Manor he guessed it was one of the boys who had led them to their downfall.

"I didn't know." Draco held his hands up, the cigarette at his feet forgotten. "You can use veritaserum on me. After the Battle I only left my room the the trial. Then I came here. We don't get news on the ward. They say it's too depressing." He gave a grim smile. "Which is a bit ironic giving how everyone is supposed to be so happy their side one."

Potter didn't smile. He was removing a vial from the inner pocket of his cloak. Draco had offered, but he still raised an eyebrow as he drank it.

"Are you going to try and escape while I question you?"

"No. I'm too curious what you're going to ask."

Thankfully Potter let go. Draco felt himself sag against the wall.

"Do you know where Hermione Granger is?"

"No."

"Do you know where she has been since the Battle of Hogwarts?"

"No."

Potter had begun pacing, his hands clasped behind his head, pulling onto his unruly dark hair. He looked a mess. "When did you last see her?"

"With you after Crabbe was killed by fiendfyre."

"Do you know anyone who could have taken her."

"No."

As the eyes of his old rival began to well up, Draco longed to mock him for it. Instead he looked away so he'd have time to compose himself.

"Do you know anything about her that could help me find her?"

Draco hesitated. He wanted to say yes. But he was bound to say the truth.

"No."

Silence hung in the air between them. Uncomfortable and heavy. After what felt like an age passed between them, Potter spoke.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time."

As he turned away, cloak billowing out behind him, Draco found himself calling out. "Wait!"

It was suspicion not hope that Potter's eyes held. "What?"

Draco stepped cautiously towards him. On a normal day he could easily take too noble Potter in a fight. But this man who felt like he had nothing to lose? He didn't fancy his chances as much.

"Granger's smart." He said grudgingly. "And tough. Whatever's going on, she'll be doing her best to survive it."

Harry gave a thin smile. "If she's still alive."

"She will be." Draco swallowed. He hated talking about his old master. "He - he said if anyone got either of your friends, then we were to bring them to him straight away. He wanted them hunted down so they could be used as leverage and was furious no one was successful in getting them." Draco shrugged. "If she'd died, you'd know about it. We all would."

Potter's green eyes pierced into his, looking for any indication of a lie. It was uncomfortably similar to his old master. That's why he was stunned when he shook his hand.

"Why did you come to question me?" He wasn't angry. Just curious. "If you'd done some digging in the office you would have seen why I'm here."

"I'm running out of options." Potter tucked the vial back into his cloak. "Thank you for your time, Malfoy." He looked around awkwardly. "I hope you find your way to recovery."

Something about the way he said it made Draco know he really meant it. And it was too tiring to fight anymore.

"Thanks. I hope you find your way too."

"To Hermione?"

"To recovery."

The unspoken question lingered between them. With all his attention focused on finding the girl he loved, Draco doubted Potter had ever taken the time to check in how his own self was.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts soon." It burst out of Draco before he could stop it, before he could reason with himself why he was sharing this with someone he loathed. "I'm going to take my NEWTS and start training to become a Healer."

Potter looked surprised, but he smiled. "When did you decide you wanted to be a Healer?"

Draco shrugged. "I got good at a load of the spells in the war. Hardly anyone knew them. Snape always said I had a talent for potions and could go far. I thought I'd give it a go."

Potter looked ready to say something. Perhaps to jeer and say he'd never amount to anything. Perhaps to say he didn't deserve a second chance. Perhaps to wish him well. But Draco never heard of those things, on the crack of disaparation as he disappeared.

Then again, Draco mused, what would he have to say to any of that if the shoe were on the other foot?

 **I'm starting to feel a weird attraction towards Robard. I've imagined him in my head as seriously gorgeous and he always wears a waistcoat. What started as a tiny character may start to develop into something more.**

 **It hadn't been my intention to include Draco in this chapter, but he somehow snuck his way in! What do people think? Should he sneak his way into the story more often?**

 **Massive thanks to all those who have been reading and reviewing so far - big shout out to** **Sab81790! Thank you so much for calling me one of your favourites, it meant so much to me 3**

 **Have no fear, although Hermione will stay missing for a few more chapters, we will get to the mystery soon enough. Out of curiosity, what are your thoughts so far?**

 **xx**


	10. Seasons fly

**A short chapter today, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for all the follows and reviews so far. They keep me writing!**

 **146 days missing**

Wendell and Monica Wilkins were once incredibly ordinary people. There was no reason to suspect they might ever do anything outside the comfort zones of a normal middle classed couple. But one day, as if by magic, they chose to be something else. They chose to be spontaneous.

They packed up their bags and moved to Australia. It was strange how quickly they were able do it, far fewer ties held them in Britain than they'd realised.

Soon they'd traded their weekend walks in the park for surfing and their mundane office jobs for workers at a koala sanctuary. Within a short space of time they were living the tourist dream and soon they knew there would come a time where they'd stop referring to this as their holiday and realise these amazing experiences now formed part of their everyday lives.

Wendell had decided to grow his hair. To be spontaneous. Which he was now. True, he was greyer than his more golden colleagues, but he reasoned with himself that now he was a silver fox. Luckily for him, Monica agreed. As Wendell made his way back home, he swept it away from his eyes, a little consciously, and it was then he saw him.

The young man from that morning. Still sitting on the wall by his house with an air of melancholy. He couldn't have been any more than eighteen, but his aura oozed the sense of a boy who'd been made to grow up before his time. Wendell was very good at reading auras now.

He hesitated. The lad wasn't so scruffy he came across as homeless, but there was certainly an unkemptness that made him want to reach out to him. Was it a fight with parents? The Wilkins' had never had children, but his paternal urge had never gone away.

As he approached the lad he was viewed with suspicion. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

"Hello there." Wendell hoped he sounded breezy rather than wary. "You been there all day?"

"Is that a problem?"

Another Brit! Funny how delighted a familiar accent can make you feel when you're far from home. "Of course not." He smiled warmly. "You here on holiday?"

"Sort of." The boy returned his smile. It was kind, sincere. "You?"

"Oh." Wendell blushed as he beamed. "Me and the wife live out here now. We still have to pinch ourselves this is the life we lead!"

A flicker of something flashed in the lad's eyes. Then the easy smile reappeared. "Congratulations. I'm glad you're so happy."

"Wendell?" Monica opened the front door, no doubt she'd been spying on this exchange. "Do you want a cuppa?"

Wendell glanced back at the young man. "Would you like one?" He'd never have asked a stranger in for a drink back home. But he was the spontaneous sort now and it was nice to see the boys face split into a grin.

"Love one."

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Monica fussed for the boy as soon as he stepped into their home, deciding he was far too skinny and needed plumping up with some biscuits.

"You come over with your family, love?"

"Um, no actually." The visitor was perched on the edge of the sofa with a look of hesitancy, understandable in a strangers home. "I came by myself."

"I nearly went backpacking by myself." Monica confessed as she poured the tea. "Bottled it at the last minute. I'm a social bird really. Good on you for being so brave! I bet they all admire you for it at home."

The boy gave a small smile. "It's something I'm kinda known for actually."

The couple exchanged a look. Poor kid. Clearly he was running away from some sort of pressure.

"What's your name anyway?" Wendell said brightly. "You know ours."

"Harry." He held out his hand formally. "Harry Potter."

The handshake he gave was strong. Which was good because Monica couldn't abide a weak handshake.

"Do you have kids?"

"No." The couple said in unison, both a little wistfully.

"I'd always said no in the past." Monica continued. "But these days I find myself wondering why. Ah well. Can't be helped."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a series of small talk and reminiscing old times back home. It seemed odd to be telling so much of this to a stranger, but Harry had a wonderful way of evoking confidence and soon they were sharing all sorts of things. Perhaps it was the tea, they'd laughed.

Harry glanced down at his watch. "I really should be getting back. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr and Mrs Wilkins. It was a pleasure to meet you both."

"Thank you for listening to us jabber on for so long!" Wendell laughed as he rose with him. "It's been quite lovely to talk about old times again. So many things I'd forgotten about. I used to love camping in the Forest of Dean."

"Well if you run into any trouble while your back packing in Australia you know who to call." Monica gave Harry a hug and tucked a piece of paper with their number on it into his shirt pocket. "It can be a lonely place if you don't have anyone." They'd learned the boy was an orphan and it had pulled on their heartstrings. What a poor lost soul. No wonder he'd gone travelling. They could only hope he'd find what was missing from his life soon.

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As Harry disappeared from their view, he massaged his temple. He'd never had a conversation with the Granger's before. It was so frustrating for that to be it. For them to not know who he was, who their daughter was. Hardly the meeting the parents experience he'd imagined. The whole thing had felt so dishonest.

Hermione had successfully obliviated them into believing they were different people, but the majority of their memories stayed the same - she was just omitted from them. Family holidays became couples holidays, the third bedroom in the house was a guest bedroom. Without her in their thoughts made them far less interesting targets for Death Eaters.

Harry could only hope they really were as nice as the people he'd just spent an afternoon with. Mrs Granger was hilarious, full of entertaining stories where she pulled herself out of one mishap or the other just in the nick of time. Mr Granger was endearingly wise, always ready with a quote or some information. He encouraged Harry to evaluate his responses, to question his self. It was nice to see where Hermione got it from.

He'd told them he was off to check out some of the landmarks, but he was really heading back home. There'd be time for all that later. When he found her.

Harry was just on his way to the site of the portkeys when he spotted Robard sitting on a park bench.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and pinstripe suit, with his waistcoat and fedora hat, Robard looked like a 1920's gangster. In fairness the look suited him and none of the passing muggles seemed to suspect a thing. As the gold eyes bore into the green ones, Harry knew he couldn't avoid his boss. No matter how much he wanted to.

"It's the weekend." Harry said defensively before Robard had the chance to open his mouth. "I was always going to be back before Monday. I'm not missing any work for this holiday."

Something flickered over Robard's face. Amusement?

"A holiday, Potter?"

"Yes." He hadn't meant it to sound quite so fierce. "I've never been on holiday before. I figured the opposite end of the world was as good a place as any."

"And the address of the Granger's had absolutely nothing to do with it?"

It was pointless. Robard had expressly forbidden Harry not to go seeking out the Granger's and he had disobeyed orders. He may as well admit it.

"How did you find out?"

"I had you followed as soon as you promised me you wouldn't go looking for them."

"You knew I was lying?"

"I knew you would do it because I would have done exactly the same thing at your age."

Was that a smile? Surely not, the small turns at the edge of his lips had to be a coincidence.

"Then why didn't you want me to go?"

Robard patted the seat beside him. Harry sat down gingerly.

"I'm not the only one who had you followed." He said bluntly. "Kingsley too. And when they discovered you really had found Hermione's parents the decision was made to return their memories." He looked down at Harry who held his head in his hands. "For two parents to recover from the shock that their daughter had their memories modified and then to learn she is missing? I wanted to protect them from that harm until I had a stronger lead. There are Healers in there as we speak returning their memories."

"I only meant to try and question them." Harry said hoarsely, a knot tying in his stomach. "I figured they'd have some memories I could use. Something I could find a lead with."

"Did you find anything?"

Harry numbly shook his head.

Robard looked back out at the park, seemingly watching the sky. "We can only offer them support going forward. They'll be devastated. We'll need to encourage that we're doing everything we can." Robard met his eyes. "So long as you trust me that I am doing everything I can."

"Robard, I-"

"Do you trust me?"

Part of him wanted to say no. It was the part of him that wanted to be in charge. The part of him that lay awake at night screaming that she would have been found by now if only he'd been given more opportunities to do his job. The part of him that whispered in his ear that Robard was envious of the boy who lived.

Another part, a newer part wanted to say yes. The part that was starting to see a human behind the terrifying boss.

"Yes." It ended up being so easy to say. "I do."

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As Harry arrived at his flat that evening he was greeted by the Daily Prophet on his doormat. For most households, the appearance of a newspaper in their house wasn't too unsual. But for Harry it was. He despised the Daily Prophet and would continue to so long as that awful Skeeter woman was there. Sure enough it was her headline that screamed from the front page.

 **MONTHS AFTER VOLDEMORT'S DEMISE, WILL THE CHOSEN ONE EVER GIVE FAMILIES JUSTICE?**

What did that mean? Against his better judgement, Harry picked up the paper and flopped onto the sofa. Sure, the world hadn't returned to instant stability, but what did he have to do with it?

 _Mr Letch is a broken man before me._

 _"I wonder if Potter knew how much damage his cause has done to families all over the world." He sobs into a handkerchief. "Families who have lost people all because they got caught up in something they didn't need to be involved in. Potter should have made it clear that ordinary people didn't need to fight for him. Instead he called on their help and brought a battle to a school."_

 _Mr Letch of course refers to the Battle of Hogwarts. Why Mr Potter brought danger to a place where many parents send their children to be safe is a question no one will ever really be able to answer. Then again, we have always known him to be reckless. No doubt a side effect from his tragic backstory._

 _Barry Letch was a sixth year in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. Charming and well-liked by all of his peers, his professors had forseen a bright future which has now been extinguished._

 _Mr Letch, 45, argues that had it not been for Mr Potters' foolish decision to head into a building filled with minors and put everyone at risk, his son would still be alive. Mr Potter's reckless actions did not take into account the dangers of others, including underage students, would face. Had a proper plan been implemented, many would still be alive. Mr Letch is now seeking compensation for what has happened and will be presenting the Ministry with his lawsuit in the morning._

 _Story continues page 5._

Harry dropped the newspaper, his hands trembling. She was right. He hadn't thought of anyone else at all. As the beaming face of Barry Letch smiled up at him, Harry felt sick. It wasn't that he remembered their time together. It was that he didn't remember him at all. A faceless boy who was now dead because of him. Someone who had a bright future was now lying in the ground all because Harry hadn't thought to make a proper plan. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. Colin. There were so many others that had died that day.

He had to make things right.


	11. Still you don't walk through the door

**1083 days missing**

Boxes had taken over Ginny Weasley's home. Every surface held a tower of teetering boxes filled with clothes, books and other random tat. They were so precariously balanced Harry had warned her countless times someone was going to end up with a head injury.

"Oh stop being so soft." Ginny said briskly as Harry announced his views again. "The more time you spend whining the longer it will take to unpack everything."

"Remind me again why I said I'd help you?"

She flashed him a charming smile. "You didn't. I told you."

Dean chuckled. "She trapped me the same way, mate. I thought I was coming over for date night."

"And what could be more romantic than helping me put up some shelves?" Ginny kissed him on the cheek as she tottered past, careful not to step on the saucepans.

As she entered the kitchen Dean winked at Harry. "I've got some firewhiskey in my bag. For when we need to blot out her nagging later."

Harry liked Dean and Ginny together. She was a proudly high maintenance but the laid back Dean helped her stay grounded when she needed to be. In reverse, Ginny pushed Dean to achieve things he had only dreamed of before. It helped too that Dean was a muggleborn. Arthur found him absolutely marvellous. The two would sit with their heads together, thick as thieves as Dean chatted about football, cars and instant noodles. It was the first time Harry had seen Arthur smile in ages.

Ginny had sped through training and was now getting ready to join the Holyhead Harpies as a Chaser. With her new job came a ton of money and Ginny had eagerly bought an enormous house.

"Don't get my wrong the Burrow was great," she'd confided to Harry once the contracts were signed. "But I outgrew it years ago. I've wanted to fly the nest since I realised most of the broom cupboards at Hogwarts were bigger than my bedroom."

As someone who grew up in a cupboard under the stairs, Harry could understand.

But before Ginny had managed to move in, Ron had been discharged from St Mungo's.

After the devastating injuries, everyone had always assumed Ron would stay in the care of professionals, hoping without logic that one day the Healers would find a cure. However, the board had decided that it was in Ron's best interests to move into a home environment again. The only problem was finding somewhere to put him.

Mrs Weasley had become a full time carer for George. He'd also been discharged from St Mungo's, but it was far too soon. The man was still filled with bitterness and anger, and was prone to acting erratically. He frequently wandered off into the night and got himself in trouble. Other times he shut himself in his room and stared blankly at the wall. Occasionally he'd cry and scream until his voice was hoarse. They'd kept the severity of Ron's injuries from him and so it wouldn't be a good idea to have the pair under the same roof.

Harry had offered his place. His one bedroom flat wasn't big enough, but he could upgrade. The only problem were the lawsuits that were arriving daily through the letterbox. Harry was quickly beginning to run out of money and wouldn't be able to afford the price of the daily carers Ron would need while he was in the office.

However Ginny stepped in. She was his sister and saw it as her duty. She had the room. She had the money to hire staff to care for him. But Harry guessed it still wasn't going to be easy.

"How's work?" Dean asked as Ginny bustled off to Ron's room.

"The usual." Harry yawned flopping onto the sofa. "Overworked and underpaid. Robard still hates me. Dipow does whatever he can to get under my skin. We're trying to catch someone at the moment who keeps selling biting teacups and-"

"You know that's not what I meant." Dean interrupted softly.

It was true. Harry had known exactly what Dean was referring to. It was what was plaguing his thoughts every day.

In two weeks Hermione would have been missing for three years. If she had not been found by then, she would be legally declared dead.

"There are still no leads." Harry said hoarsely, his hands closing around his cup of tea. "Nothing. Everything we think we find quickly comes to a dead end. If she were dead someone somewhere would have been careless. Someone has her and is hiding her."

"Why?" It was not unkind. Dean didn't show the exasperation some of Harry's colleagues did. It was a genuine question.

"Because of her connection to me, I guess." Harry said glumly. "Perhaps they're waiting for everyone to bleed me dry and then pounce."

"You really shouldn't be paying people that money."

Harry waved it aside. "It's my money, I can do what I want with it."

"Paying people off won't bring back the dead." Dean said firmly. "You know that. These people who approach you are doing it for the money. They're not doing it for the people who've died. People die in war. It doesn't mean you go seeking compensation from the person who stopped that war."

"We've got an article coming out tomorrow." Harry swiftly changed the subject. "Papers around the world will be printing it. The biggest article written about her disappearance and asking people to come forward with information, no matter how small. It could be something that seems so insignificant, but could be vital."

Dean smiled sadly at him. Harry looked away in discomfort. "It's your last chance."

"No." It had come out fiercer than intended. "Nothing will ever be my last chance with her."

Silence hung over the pair of them. More than anything Harry wanted Dean to tell him that he also believed Hermione was alive, that she was out there waiting for him. He wanted Dean to reassure him, to fill him with hope.

But Dean didn't do any of these things. Instead he handed him a small business card.

"He's a grief counsellor. He helped me out a lot, maybe he can help you come to terms with things too."

The temptation to rip it up in his face was strong, however Harry forced himself to give a small smile and pocket it. He could always throw it in the bin later. Now he had to focus on the leads from the article.

 **1084 days missing**

The paper sat there quite innocently on the doormat. As he picked it up, he sunk to the floor against his wall. It felt like his heart had stopped beating when he saw her face.

It must have been the last picture taken of her. It was strange to think people had been taking pictures during the Battle. He suspected Rita Skeeter must have been involved.

Firing spells at someone out of sight, Hermione shielded one of her patients who huddled against her. With the cuts on her face and wild curly hair, her fierceness reminded Harry of Boudicca. His fingertips brushed against the photo, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of her skin and wrap his fingers in her curls.

 _ **LAST APPEAL FOR MISSING HERMIONE GRANGER**_

 _Head Auror Gawain Robard has issued one last appeal for information regarding the disappearance of Miss Hermione Granger. Last seen three years ago at the so called Battle of Hogwarts, aurors have found every trail to be a dead end._

 _"You may see it as a trivial detail," Robard says in his statement to reporters, "but to the trained eye it could be a clue that leads to her location. Any piece of information you have is important."_

 _Miss Granger was not one of the bodies recovered after the battle and aurors began their investigation confident that she was still alive. However, wizarding law states that after three years a missing person be declared deceased. Once this happens, the case will be closed._

 _"We don't want to close the case when it is far from closed." Robard is known for his pragmatic approach to his work, some may even call him heartless. Yet in his speech he holds a glint of determination, suggesting that he believes the young witch to still be alive. "If Miss Granger is in need of our help, we need to give it. Without more eye-witnesses coming forwards, we cannot do that."_

 _Hermione Granger will legally be declared dead on the anniversary of her disappearance, 2nd May 2001. She will be remembered as an incredibly bright witch with a promising career ahead of her -_

Harry scrunched up the paper and threw it away in frustration.

Crookshanks raised an eyebrow. Could cats raise eyebrows?

"They're clearly itching to write her obituary." Harry said bitterly. "She will be remembered. How can they say that when she's not dead?"

Crookshanks nuzzled against him reassuringly. When Harry didn't respond, he huffed and padded off.

Harry didn't have time to think about sulking cats. He had to think about his next step. Was it possible any of the Death Eaters questioned under Veritaserum had an antidote? Had anyone faked their death? Were there fighters there he didn't know who had snuck away before everyone could be counted up? All questions that had plagued his mind since the investigation had begun.

Why would Robard not let him help? It was infuriating. He knew Hermione better than anyone. He knew her patterns, how she thought, how she'd react to any situation. If they let him out in the field more, perhaps he'd notice some clues. If they let him get involved with other darker cases, perhaps he'd manage to make a connection that everybody else was missing.

But Robard was always getting in the way. Always determined that Harry stay stuck behind a desk as if he were still a schoolboy. It was infuriating.

Crookshanks nudged him. Gently in his mouth he held the front page of the article.

Harry took it from him and stared at the photograph of Hermione.

"I'll find you." He promised. "I'll find you."

 **1090 days missing**

"Harry!" Ernie Macmillan burst through the office door, too excited to bother with the formality of knocking. Harry glanced up from his mountain of paperwork, nursing a headache caused by stress and possibly too much firewhiskey from the night before. He wasn't in the best of moods to deal with that level of noise just yet.

"Not now, Ernie." He fought the urge to snap, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm really busy."

"It's important." The baby blue eyes shone with delight. "It's her, Harry. Hermione. They've found her."

Harry hurtled down the wards of St. Mungo's heart pounding in his chest. Hermione. She was here. She was safe.

Healers glared at him in disapproval as he ran, muttering objections about disrupting what was supposed to be a peaceful environment, but Harry didn't care. Fuck peaceful. Fuck what was right and what was proper. He was going to see her again. Hermione. The appeal had worked.

Dipow had been apoplectic with rage as Harry shoved past him to leave. He could take that stupid job and stick it up his arse. Nothing else mattered now.

And yet when Harry got to the door something made him freeze.

A sudden sense of panic. It was as if dread were strangling at his insides until he felt he couldn't breathe. He could feel his palms go sweaty as they tingled with nerves. In some ways, he'd never felt more afraid.

How much had changed in three years? Would the girl behind the door still be the same Hermione? He had to prepare himself that it was unlikely. Only a true horror could have kept her away from him, a horror that no doubt would have changed her.

Unquestionably, Harry knew that he would be there for her every step of the way. He'd love and support her through anything, be by her side in even the darkest of times. The only worry was if she'd let him.

"Of course she will." The little voice in his head encouraged. "Of course she will. Now get in there and look after her."

Grasping the handle before he had time to question it, Harry opened the door.

Dark violent bruises blossomed against her pale skin while silver scars left whispers of once terrible wounds. Timid and scrawny, her brown eyes regarded him with fear, frantically darting from one place to another. It reminded him of a mouse desperately trying to seek an escape. Her brown curls hung lank in a matted mess around her shoulders until she looked almost ferral.

Slowly and gently, Harry reached out for her hand.

"You're safe now." He promised. "You're safe."

She seemed to believe him, her gaze fixing into his green eyes as she allowed him to take her hand.

Harry turned to the Healers who were smiling sympathetically at the scene before them.

"See that she is allowed to rest." He said firmly. "The Aurors will want to question her right away. They'll say you have to obey their orders, but as Healers you have the upper hand."

"Have no fear, Mr Potter." One of them said soothingly. "We quite agree with you. Total rest for a few more days now."

She clung onto his hand with a fierceness now, as if he were the only one in the world who could protect her.

As she peeped up at him and volunteered a relieved smile, Harry tried to return it; despite the fact that it was breaking his heart that she was not Hermione Granger.

 **1095 days missing**

 ** _HERMIONE GRANGER DECLARED DEAD_**

 _As the Wizarding Britain comes together to mourn the 76 lives lost in the Battle of Hogwarts, Head Auror, Gawain Robard, has announced that Hermione Granger has now been legally declared dead._

 _"It is a bitter blow for the department." Robard says outside the Ministry. "We had hoped to give her loyal family and friends closure on this case. However, due to lack of evidence and Wizarding law, we are forced to declare her as deceased. I am very proud of my department for all the work they have put in trying to find her over the past three years."_

 _A memorial service will be held on Friday at -_

Harry couldn't bring himself to read any more. The grief was burning up inside him, burning him alive until he couldn't contain it any longer and he screamed. He screamed like a man dying. Sweat trickled down his brow as he shook with the pain. All he could see in his head were the bodies. The bodies of those who had died because of him. The bodies of those who he may have well murdered. The body of the girl he loved.

 **Hello! Sorry for the delay in updating, I actually went mad writing another fanfic and got completely distracted!**

 **Have no fear, the mystery surrounding Hermione's disappearance will be made clear soon.**

 **In the meantime, keep the reviews coming. They kick my writers block and give me motivation!**

 **xx**


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